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Sunday evening:
I last saw my key six days ago at the studio, thinking that I’d get it back out of the desk just a day later. I know it’s safe with Claire, she’s always responsible, but going so long without even seeing it was hard to get used to. Without any real access to it, my desires had been held at bay and I went about my week mostly as usual. It’s easy to avoid temptations when they basically aren’t there.
When I had left the studio on Tuesday, I thought I’d be going crazy by now, that I’d be a dripping mess spending all day on the couch squeezing my legs together and biting my lip to try to suppress the urges the belt made impossible to satisfy. Naturally, that didn’t happen; no one loses their mind after just one week. I was only just starting to feel the effects with random little things catching my eye and turning my thoughts to what I was missing. Tomorrow, I’d have my key back so I had no problem dealing with these small temptations.
Wednesday had been no problem at all for me. I had ample time to cool down after the shock of finding my key missing the day before and I went about my usual routine preparing scripts for the week ahead and doing the necessary maintenance on my channel. My channel wasn’t huge, but as a woman on the internet with strong opinions, I was bound to draw some unwanted attention. The small network of conservative creators I was part of occasionally bought ads to promote our content. I was thankful they tried to help me grow, but the randomly targeted ads tended to add to this issue more than they benefited my view counts.
This meant that I had to dedicate an hour or two each week filtering through comments, doing my best to keep the space below my videos clean. They were mostly the same things you’d find under any random video regardless ığdır seks hikayeleri of the topic- teenaged boys just writing graffiti to show off to no one in particular that they knew a new word. They were all just noise I had to deal with and I felt like I’d forgotten them as soon as I removed them. Although, “??Nice Udders! ????????,” did stick in my mind for a while. As crass as it was, it made me laugh a little, thinking of the writer being entirely flustered just by my modestly dressed figure. He was clearly struggling to deal with newly discovered feelings.
The real challenge had been Thursday. When I started this, I expected there to be difficult days. I figured there’d be plenty of days where I’d wish I could relax a tightly wound knot of frustration but I’d power through with the belt’s help, remembering that this was all to help me be the woman I wanted to be. Thursday was nothin like that though. I felt trapped. I hardly felt any desires, but I was afraid that I would. I felt like some invisible force might hit me like a punch to the stomach out of nowhere and make me hornier than I’d ever been in my life. This force would wipe my mind in an instant, replacing all of my usual thoughts with a single-minded need for pleasure and all of the depraved things it would make me willing to do to get it.
Of course, this was crazy; nothing worked like that. My fears didn’t care about that, though, and I spent the day feeling as if there was something hiding just around the corner waiting to turn me into a desperate lunatic. My wild imagination seemed to believe I could go from relaxed and in control to desperately clawing at my belt, trying to find any weakness in just minutes. Worse still, I pictured myself having to call Claire in tears and beg her to drive the key over to me after being hit by one of these imagined sudden needs to orgasm. Ironically, this fear about being abruptly overwhelmed with desire kept me distracted from any actual urges I felt.
After that, the remaining days were easy as I slowly relaxed, reassured that I wouldn’t suddenly be overcome with some unstoppable desire. That unexpected fear slowly gave away to the dull craving for sensation that I expected. As long as I kept myself busy, or at least distracted, I really had nothing to worry about. I’d be seeing Claire at the studio again early tomorrow. I felt like I had already made it.
Then, my phone buzzed on the living room table, lighting up with a text:
Claire: Hey, just checking, you still need your key tomorrow, right?
My stomach fell slightly. Do I still need it? Need. Why did she have to ask me like that? Why did she have to ask me at all? Was this really something she couldn’t just assume I hadn’t changed my mind about? I typed out “yes, of course, thanks!” but stopped myself before I hit send. Her message still said it was received “just now” on my screen; I couldn’t have her get the reply with the phone still in her hand. She was such a kind, helpful person but I still couldn’t stand thinking about the chance of her seeing me as a desperate, sex-crazed maniac counting down the seconds until I could touch myself again. I’d have to wait.
I let over an hour tick by. I should have just sent it. Her message and what I would reply was all that occupied my mind now. The decision was simple really; what was more important: getting my key back tomorrow or my reputation in the eyes of just one person. Pride had always been the sin I struggled with the most; this predicament made that crystal clear. Unfortunately, knowing that my pride was making me so unreasonable did little to stop me from continuing to be so stubborn. I cycled through my options. My pride wanted me to outright refuse it, tell her no, I didn’t need it, but after typing it out it felt just as wrong as the first. If I was being honest, I did really need it. The video was going up one week from tomorrow and I needed to let myself out just one more time before then. After that, I’d have to get much more serious about staying locked. I couldn’t stand the thought of being such a hypocrite – publicly advocating for other women to lock themselves up while still enjoying myself constantly.
After entirely too much thought, my pride narrowly won out. I’d technically say no, but leave her room to interpret it however she chooses. All I had to do was cross my fingers and hope she decides to bring it anyway. Possibly, I could get my key back with no cost to my reputation.
You: Don’t worry about it! See you tomorrow.
Prefect. She’d clearly know I’m not struggling, but there’s still plenty of room for her to make the choice herself. Seconds later she replied “Great, see ya.” The quick, casual reply reminded my how much I’d been overthinking things. I’d spent nearly an hour on seven words and she clearly didn’t dissect them as carefully as I’d feared. Regardless, I’d sent what I sent and all I could do now was wait to see her tomorrow morning.
I kept myself distracted until I was ready to go to bed, feeling hints of the same fear I felt on Thursday creeping in. All I could do now was wait, As I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, I could only think about my key. I pictured Claire, miles away at her apartment, turning the key slowly in her fingers, contemplating whether or not to bring it with her tomorrow. That was entirely in my head though, just my anxieties running wild in my imagination. There was no way she was putting even a fraction of the thought into this that I was… right?
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